


Just A Bit Chilled

by Sagnessagiel



Series: AUIdeas Calendar Fills 2015 [1]
Category: DCU, Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: AU, Advent Calendar, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 07:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5366720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sagnessagiel/pseuds/Sagnessagiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim's ride is late again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Bit Chilled

Tim’s ride is late again. 

It's a cold morning in December, and Tim stands alone and shivering on the sidewalk. He’s wearing a jacket, but it isn't so much warm as it is fashionable. He curses the fact that he brought it the one day when no one in his family will be around to approve and balance out the misery of wearing it. Dick and Bruce would have been delighted that he finally decided to put some effort into the family’s public image. He really should have picked a better time. Like summer.

To add to the cold and the misery is his own sense of stubbornness, which he blames his mother for. His driver promised that he would be there within the next five minutes. Tim doesn’t believe him, but he he won't walk back just because of a little cold. He is Red Robin. He is the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company. He will not be forced inside by a little cold. 

So he stands at an anonymous bus stop in uptown Gotham, using mind over matter to stop himself from rubbing at his arms. He crosses them instead - stands straight and attempts to look stoic - for all the distraction that it offers him. 

The street is mostly empty. It's too early for anyone but stragglers to be walking around. Tim gets up early on most days, because he's supposed to be the responsible person running the company while Brucie Wayne sleeps on top of imaginary bimbos and Batman goes on adventures in the sewers at six in the morning. 

He looks up and down the road, searching the passing cars for the sleek shine of Tim Wayne's own mid-teens crisis on wheels. No such car appears on the horizon. What does appear is a man about Tim's age walking towards the bus stop with an upbeat spring in his step. Tim watches him go, but subtly, because in the city people don't look each other in the eyes.

The stranger is taller than Tim, with black hair and blue eyes framed by glasses that Tim Wayne's stylist would have taken personal offence to. His brown coat looks new, and awkward on him, but the smile on his face serves to distract Tim from anything he might have remarked on. It's odd to see someone smiling in Gotham's streets – not because of the supervillains but because city people don't develop happy resting faces. 

He stops by the bus stop and settles on the freezing bench like nothing in the world could bother him. Tim stares, because he tried sitting down on the bench when he first arrived, and he regrets it. Then stranger speaks suddenly.

“Great morning, huh?” he says brightly. Tim looks around at the slush snow piles and puddles on the road. 

“If you like the cold,” he mutters, because he's bitter and he has yet to have coffee. Stranger raises an eyebrow.

“Not a fan?” he asks. Tim sighs a cloud of mist.

“Just a little chilly,” he says, and turns a weak version of the Tim Wayne smile on him. Stranger looks amused.

“Might want to consider a thicker jacket if you're just going to stand in the cold like that.”

Tim stares, perplexed. 

“You're wearing jeans,” he says, as if that works as a counter argument. “and a thinner jacket than mine.”

Stranger glances at his frayed jeans. He looks confused. 

“I... have quick circulation?” he says, and it's a question. Tim stares. Stranger coughs. 

“I'm just a warm person, okay?” He then avoids Tim's eyes and looks at the wet street instead. Tim sighs again. 

Naturally warm. Tim wouldn't mind that right about now. 

“Do you want to sit down?” Stranger says, changing the subject. Tim looks at the bench. 

“That thing is freezing. I'd rather be alive when my ride arrives.”

“It isn't that cold. You could sit here, near me. I promise I won't bite.”

Tim stares at him long and hard. Clearly this man is from out of town, or he would see the bizarre nature of that statement. People that say such things in this city are always the ones that lie. But...

Tim is really cold, and his driver seems to have gotten no closer from wherever the hell he is. The man doesn't look very threatening, and surely Tim Wayne could defend himself and still maintain cover, right? 

Damn it, he's cold. He hasn't had any coffee. His thermal insulated suit is back at his base and out of his reach. He can be Tim Wayne – meek socialite – for a few minutes. 

He sits down and forces himself not to lean in. It's actually difficult, because the guy really wasn't lying when he said he was warm. He's actually emitting heat like a radiator. The contrast between his presence and the cold air makes Tim more miserable, but only until Stranger reaches over him and pulls him in until they're sitting close together. Tim freezes up, but Stranger seems oblivious, keeping one warm-as-fresh-apple-pie hand on Tim's thigh. 

“There's a lot of trash on these streets,” Stranger says thoughtfully, as though this is a completely normal situation that happens every day. Tim blinks. 

“It's Gotham,” he says on instinct. Stranger looks around, hums. 

“Lots of stuff that could burn pretty well, if you're willing to try it.”

Great. He's cuddling in a bus stop with a delinquent. Tim resigns himself to some possible vigilantism before work today. 

“How would you even set anything here on fire?” he asks instead of reacting, because he wants to savour the warmth while he can, and everything around them is wet with snow. 

Stranger gives him the oddest look. It's almost calculating. He smirks. 

“I might have an idea,” he says, Tim really hopes that the faint red tint to his eyes is only imaginary. He sighs. 

There's a set of six weapons on his person, and he can reach three. What's the worst that could happen?


End file.
